i stopped by death’s door:
love the small joys,
there is never really the grandeur
we imagine as boys

i went to the cradle:
even heartache contains glorious bits,
suffering is never really that fatal,
love comes and goes, but you’ll always have it

one day, i’ll be neither in a cradle
nor waiting to cross through that door,
but the witch who brought you back to me was not evil;
i have this moment of anticipation for you, nothing more